


Bombing Raid

by Mr_Crocodile



Series: On the shoulders of Titans [6]
Category: Godzilla - All Media Types
Genre: Air Force, Gen, Implied/Referenced Violence, Navy, War, You Have Been Warned, a lot of people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Crocodile/pseuds/Mr_Crocodile
Summary: When Godzilla destroyed Tokyo in 1954, the entire world believed it to be a freak catastrophe. A horrible but singular event.They were wrong.
Series: On the shoulders of Titans [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990825
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	Bombing Raid

**Author's Note:**

> After a few delays, I can finally show you all the next instalment of this series, this time I'm taking you all to almost the very beginning of the Age of Monsters!  
> Enjoy!!!!

** 5th of May, 1958 **  
** 13.000 Meters Above The Rat Islands, Alaska, United States of America **

Captain Jameson Duncan and his flight crew had already spent more than seven hours in flight by the time they received the order to pull up and put the pedal to the metal. 

At first, Jamie had been perplexed when the entire 14th Air Division had been mobilised almost three days ago. Hell, barring the trainees, it looked like the entirety of the Mather AFB was going to be hauling ass to _Alaska_ of all places.

Then... Then the news reached them. And he understood.

The Japanese, those poor bastards, had been hit again. When he had learned about what had happened in Tokyo back in ‘54 he had at first gloated. He had made his career by killing Nips and to this day still held his uncle’s death in Sandakan close to his heart. After all, it had been less than a decade after the war at the time.

Then of course, the details had started trickling out of the ruined city, and all that cruel glee had melted away.

He still held hate for what the Jap’s armies had done, but it wasn’t the Japanese army (or whatever still existed of it anyways) who had been burned alive in Tokyo…

It had been 7 and a half million civies.

And if command and the _soviets of all people_ were to be believed, it had happened again. 

This time it had been Hokkaido, 2 million so far and it didn’t seem like the numbers would stop climbing anytime soon. The worst part was that they had learned that from the Russians, who somehow had found out about the thing coming ashore a second time before even the Japanese had reacted to it.

That had led to literally everyone (including Jameson and everyone in Mather when the news broke) west of the Iron Curtain thinking that the Communists had somehow been part of it.

A rumor which had been horrifyingly dispelled when 5 days later the thing resurfaced somewhere in Kamchatka and killed another 100 thousand innocents. So far, the fact that Jamie’s own government was running with those numbers meant that the Soviets weren’t lying.

And now, recon planes flying all over Alaska and the North Pacific were reporting that, whatever that monster was, it was currently cruising through the now evacuated island of Attu. Attu as in the island in the Aleutians. Attu as in Alaska.

_Attu, as in American soil._

A monster the size of an aircraft carrier was on US soil.

As far as Jameson knew, every single B-52 on the west coast was heading there like his Good Old Marta, as were most other bombers under Western Air Defense Force command. The operation plan, sardonically called _Pest Removal_ , was simple and effective: they (as in the strategic bombers) would carpet bomb Attu to oblivion, after which dive bombers would go in for the mercy killing of whatever was left of the demon.

Of course, that was if everything went as planned, if the thing tried to flee, a third of the Pacific fleet was blockading the island and holding tight. They were leaving nothing to chance.

But Jameson ran a good, tight, crew and Marta was nothing but the best girl. So Captain Duncan was nothing but sure that the might of the USAF’s finest would do the job.

* * *

“Baldie,” Jameson’s co-pilot, lieutenant Mike Roberts, grabbed his attention with that shitty nickname. “We kind of about to reach the target… Captain.” The man used his rank more as an afterthought than anything else.

“Ron!” Jameson shouted to his weapons systems officer over comms. “As soon as we call the shot, I want every single pound of ordinance on this big fat girl hitting that demon’s ugly scaly ass, you get me?”

“Aye aye sir.” The half-Brazilian responded cheerfully. “We are going to make Hamburg look like a campfire in comparison to what we are going to do to this _filho da puta_!”

Of course, the general sense of cheer was slowly tempered into the calmness and seriousness of a plane crew who knows when the time for action is coming.

After a further 30 minutes of uneventful flying, they carried out final preparations and lowered their altitude. And then what was probably the most vexing of all of the events brought forward by these Titans, even more so than the behemoths themselves, peeked it’s strangely familiar metal face from behind the clouds.

“Is that…?” Roberts started.

“A Tupolev? Yeah, a Tu-95 by the looks of it.” Jameson finished for him.

“Looks like our new friends are here.” He added.

The Soviets, as it seemed, hadn’t exactly enjoyed getting slaughtered, and less than half an hour after information of the beast’s arrival at Attu had been leaked to the international press _Khrushchev himself_ had offered the USSR’s _full military support_ on public Soviet radios and television to Eisenhower.

And the 34th president of the United States of America had _accepted_. Only on the condition that whoever the soviets sent would be escorted at all points by as many fighter planes as the American military saw necessary.

And the soviets had agreed to what was in practice: having a gun pointed at the back of their collective heads just for a chance at revenge.

Which meant that half of the ships currently blockading the Bering Sea were part of the Soviet Navy while the tighter ring around Attu and the Aleutians was mostly under the USN’s control.

 _“So we are letting them encircle us.”_ He had muttered when the entire crew had discussed the plan on the cantine days ago.

It also meant that, while they would be hitting Attu from the East, the Soviets would be flying in from the West. Or in the particular case of the 14th, they would be flying in from the Southeast and had ended up flying side by side with their communist counterparts for the last stretch of the trip.

And while his dear Marta was beautifully painted in camouflage greens and decorated with the classic shark smile and a… let’s say… very well endowed lass, her Russian counterpart, whatever it was baptized as, sported a reflective metallic grey with the usual red stars and other official markings to it. The only notable feature was a large, red-armoured knight holding a spear, which covered a good chunk of the fuselage, and some phrases in Cyrillic neither Jameson nor Mike could translate .

Jameson had a hard time dispelling the uneasiness its presence instilled in him. The fact that these people, who had been the biggest threat to democracy less than a week ago in everyone’s eyes were suddenly being allowed, no, _invited_ to _America_ felt so utterly alienating, especially considering that **they didn’t need their help**.

“Sir, the party is about to start.” Roberts interrupted his musings.

“You hear that boys?!” the captain shouted over comms. “Let’s show those ruskies what a _real_ bomber is capable of!”

The cacophony of yes sirs and adrenaline fuelled hollering that was their collective response to his question made him smile.

After that, everything was… Remarkably unremarkable. Last minute orders and confirmations were given, 60 thousand pounds of ordinance were unleashed and from the glances he had stolen at the Tupolev and the hell _it_ was unleashing, the commies were keeping their word.

Well, truth be told, there were two things that had surprised them. First, Ronaldo claimed that he was actually capable of seeing the thing amongst the thousands of explosions with his instrumentation and had described it as “The bastard child of a fat gator and an armadillo.” They had called him out on his bullshit, because _everyone_ had seen the footage from Tokyo and as weird as the demon had looked, it certainly didn’t fit the description. And secondly, but much more striking, probably a few seconds after the bombs from dozens of bombers had started hitting the ground in unison, he _heard it_.

All the way from their position, 25 thousand feet above sea-level, the striking sound had reached them, like a badly tuned electric guitar’s strident rift. It shook them.

It sounded furious.

But it didn’t repeat itself and, in only a few minutes, their job was done. The payload was delivered and they were well past Attu. More than half a day of constant flying for less than 30 minutes of action, such was the life of the “delivery man”.

So they said their goodbyes to their unlikely companions, tilting Marta a couple times to pantomime a waving hand, which they were delighted to see the Soviets caught on to, copying the move and waving back. And they started the trip back home.

And it wouldn’t be until they got back to Mather Air Force Base that they would learn what was to transpire hundreds of feet under them.

They would learn of how recon and intelligence had horrifyingly failed to notice that the monster looked nothing like it had in Tokyo, that it was a _second beast_ , not a _second attack_ . Almost as incompressibly stupid was the fact that they had failed to account for the fact that the giant’s back **had been armoured**.

Worse still, they learned of how the rest operation had gone. Apparently the entire first assault hadn’t even bruised the thing, and the fighters after them had been less than mosquitoes to it.

They learned of how the thing had retaliated by attacking the blockade. The Lexington and the Intrepid, some of their best carriers, and half a dozen other warships had been sunk. The thing had apparently toppled and _gored_ the ships like a charging moose, the shellings and torpedoes had done nothing but bother it.

Around 7000 men had died. 

Alaskan fishermen would be finding corpses tangled on their nets for weeks.

Jameson’s brother had been serving on the USS Lexington.

The Soviets had suffered damage to a lesser degree. They had lost a couple of cruisers and a few other ships, the official numbers they had shared with Jameson’s government put the death toll at 3,500 men lost.

And worst of all? Anguirus, or Anguris, the name with which the monster had been baptised by the Japs and Commies, was much like his predecessor Godzilla: nowhere to be seen. A Soviet sub had trailed it for days until it vanished somewhere near Wrangel Island.

Millions of civilians dead, thousands of navy men’s corpses floating on the Bering Strait. And all for nothing.

Captain Jameson Duncan would be honourably discharged one month later, his sons would go on to describe him as not even a ghost of the man he had been before.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, here's the [link](https://forms.gle/SiFEiEGxBonLcvyU8) to the poll I will be using to decide what the next instalment of this series will be!  
> I hope you enjoyed the story and appreciate all and any kudos or comments you may be gracious enough to gift me! You can even suggest other possible settings and Kaiju in the comments ;)
> 
> Happy new year!!


End file.
